The Light of Lebanon
by Annie-Eliza
Summary: The first thing John saw when he woke up 12 years after his death were the stars. The second and third were the green grass and flowers that surrounded him. And the fourth was a naked teenage boy who stared at him with an unsettling intensity. "It's a pleasure to meet you, John Winchester." Or... John's long and fateful journey to becoming the president of Lebanon's PFLAG Chapter.
1. chapter 1

The first thing he sees are stars.

When he sits up and manages to get past feeling he had been hit with the worst hangover of his life and a damn boulder all at once, he sees that he's in a courtyard.

In a fucking hospital gown that exposes his ass to the wet grass, no less.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, John Winchester."

John jerks his head towards the voice and jumps to his feet in a defensive stance. A boy, who can't be more than 16 and is _completely_ naked, slowly approaches him with deliberate steps. John glares at him and steps back.

"Stay back," he warns, instinctively reaching for a weapon that he doesn't even have, "I'm warning you."

The boy cocks his head, "Warning me of what?"

John sputters and tries to come up with an answer, but he doesn't have one. What can he warn? That he'll kill him, blind to knowing what he even is? And even so, he'd rather not threaten a fucking kid.

"You remind me of Dean," the boy says, unimpressed and almost disappointed.

John's blood runs cold at the words. Before he realizes it, he starts charging at the boy.

"Where's my son?!" he growls, standing inches away from the boy's face, "Where's Dean? I made a deal!"

The corners of the boy's mouth turn upwards into a small smile, but his eyes stay wide and still.

"I sometimes forget. I wasn't around when that happened."

John squints in frustration and grips his hair, "What are you talking about? Fuck my head…"

The boy's expression grows more serious as he puts a hand on John's shoulder.

"You're blocking out Hell. I understand. Hell is not pleasant. I'm not looking forward to going there to get Eileen. But she went there without any just cause and I will bring her back. Sam loved her and I love Sam. Still, it would be nice if she had been tucked away in Heaven like you had been. Not that Heaven's a barrel of laughs either."

" _What?_?" John grits out.

"I must go," the boy informs him, taking a step back, "When you find your sons, tell Sam I brought you back. As a gift. Because I love him."

John stares him in complete confusion, but then Jack rolls his eyes with exasperation.

"You can tell Dean you're a gift for him too...I guess."

Before John can open his mouth, the boy disappears, nowhere to be seen.

"Can I at least have some clothes?" he calls out, looking around the grounds.

His request is met with silence.

John lets out an enraged growl as he stomps out of the courtyard, the back of his gown flapping in the wind. He'd need a car so that he could save his sons from that...that thing. A demon? That was the only possibility going through his head right now. Whatever it is, he doesn't like it, whether it loves Sam and tolerates Dean or not.

He finds the parking lot on the other side of the building, a building that turns out to be a hospital or sorts. Glancing at it, he realizes it's the hospital he and Dean are, or had been, admitted to. Where he had made a deal with Azazel. Would he and Sam still be there? The boy had made it sound like they aren't, like John had been gone for a while. But how long?

What all did he miss?

John finds a car, tucked in the far back corner of the lot. Going by the models of some of them, he can tell he's been gone for a while. So he sticks with a car he knows. It's a beat up Grand Am and he wires it in no time and is on the road. Now if he only knew where to go. There's change at the bottom of the cup holders and it's still early enough for no one to be on the road. If he could just find a pay phone, he could call the boys or Bobby, hell, any of the contacts he had memorized. They might not believe him if they know he has been dead. Bobby might call him a lying shit and tell him to stay the hell away from the boys. But he has to try something.

As long as he doesn't get himself killed first.

The sounds of vibrating take him by surprise and almost make him curb the car. Maybe it's the pounding in his head or the anxiety that has him in his grip, but the possibility that it could be a phone doesn't connect for a moment. He finds a rectangular device, squished into the passenger seat, lighting up despite its black screen. John picks up the device with weariness and watches as the phone stops buzzing and displays.

 **Angie** **Missed Call**

There's nowhere to dial, just one singular round button. John presses it down and holds it and the phone lights up.

 **What can I help you with?**

John stares at the phone in silence, feeling put on the spot by the blinking line. The question goes away after seemingly getting impatient waiting on him, so he holds down the button again.

 **What can I help you with?**

"...Hello," John answers.

John almost drops the phone when a woman answers, "Hi there."

John tries to ask another question but is made to press the button again, which is frustrating, because it's like having a conversation with someone who isn't listening past each singular exchange.

"Call somebody," John orders.

"Who would you like to call?" the voice asks, before the blinking line makes an appearance again.

John repeats this process several times. All of the numbers John remembers of Bobby's are out of order, the last ones he remembers of Dean's are too. He tries Sam and Rufus. Kate, who will probably give him hell for ducking out of Adam's life without a word, but her number's disconnected as well. He even calls Ellen, although if he's being honest with himself, he's sort of happy hers is out of service, despite the fact she knows every hunter in the Midwest. It's not like they're on good terms.

He has one more he can try, one that isn't a hunter. One that he can trust and will know that he is who he says he is.

"Call 785-555-0182," John orders the device.

" **Calling 785-555-0182** ," the voice responds.

The phone rings and rings and, just when John thinks that he's shit out of luck, a sleepy voice answers the phone.

"John Winchester," the woman mumbles, exhausted, "Back from the dead or not, there's no excuse to call at 4 o'clock in the morning. Do you realize how little sleep I'm getting these days? You try having premonitions regarding a well-meaning but powerful man baby, wanting to bring back what he thinks is his family."

John freezes at the implications, but swallows down the stream of questions that flood his mind, "It's good to hear your voice, Missouri."

After he ditches the phone in the parking lot like Missouri told him to, John starts driving. He has two-thirds of a tank left but not enough to refill it once it gets low, so Missouri agreed him halfway at a McDonald's at Fort Calhoun. When he gets there, he realizes he has enough change to get a coffee and a couple things off the dollar menu while he waits. Thank god for drive thrus. He has no desire to have a wellness check called him just because he is in a hospital gown and barefoot.

He had brought up going straight to Bobby's, that it was pretty close to the hospital and more convenient. Missouri's tone got softer when she told him Bobby died five years back.

It hurt to hear that. Bobby had been his friend, even though the bastard hated him half the time. He had been good to Sam and Dean, another father when John had stints where he couldn't be. And the boys lost him too.

As for the year? 2017. _2017_. That made Dean 38 years old. Sam was 34. They were men, through and through. And, although Missouri hadn't told him much, she did match the boy's confirmation and told him that, as far as she knew, they were currently alive.

A knock on the car window interrupts his thoughts, he quickly turns in his seat, the glare set on his face being his only defensive weapon to scare anyone off.

All Missouri does is raise an eyebrow and roll her eyes impatiently.

"Well? You just going to stay in that beat up junker or are you going to get out and give me a hug?"

John lets out a breath, before opening the door. He's never been too much of a hugger, he liked to save those after long separations and close calls with death.

Learning you've been dead for 12 years probably fits in both of those categories.

He scoops up the older woman and holds her tight, probably holding onto her for longer than necessary, and it probably would have gone on even longer if she hadn't started running the tests on him when he least expected it.

"Never can be too sure," Missouri shrugs, putting away her knife and flask, before studying him.

"You're shaking," she notices, rubbing his back a little, "You getting soft on me or is that gown not doing you any favors?"

"It's definitely not doing any favors," John laughs, wiping his eyes quickly, "I need to-"

"You need to find your boys. I know," Missouri tells him, "I'll take you back to mine and give them a call."

"You know where they are?"

"I know where they _live_ ," Missouri corrects, "Have never been invited back for tea, but they keep in touch every so often, let me know where they call home. But they can be in Timbuktu at the moment for all I know. You know that life better than anyone."

"They still after Azazel?" John asks, stomach churning.

"Aw, honey," Missouri tsks, something akin to pity in her eyes, "Azazel's dead and gone. Old news. He was a cakewalk compared to what has gone down since."

And that statement doesn't make John feel better at all.

"Go get in the car, I'm right over there," Missouri tells him, motioning her head towards the other end of the parking lot.

The car...the car is strange, to say the least. He doesn't like that it starts with the push of a button, rather than the turn of a key. It makes it seem like it would be easier to steal.

"Like you have any room to talk!" Missouri barks with a loud laugh, "If that is the case, you of all people should be thrilled!"

"Will you stop reading my thoughts?" John grumbles, "I hate when you do that."

"Oh, shut up," Missouri dismisses with a flick of her wrist.

Missouri doesn't answer too many of his questions. When he starts asking about people, she starts to get quiet.

"I think we should wait until I get you with your boys," she answers softly, "Let's not talk about it right now, okay?"

"Why not? You going chicken shit on me? I can take it, Missouri. You know I can," John mutters.

"Honey, you've...you've lost a lot of people. Your sons have lost even more but at least it's happened over time, although a relatively short period of time. You'll need all the support you can get, since you'll probably be finding it all out at once."

John opens his mouth to object, to demand she just tell him already and put him out of his misery. But he can't bring himself to insist she say anymore. Some part of him knows she's right, even if not knowing and just waiting to be told is almost as bad.

The drive to Lawrence feels longer than it should, despite Missouri's speed demon habits still being in effect. John takes the time to absorb his surroundings, see what's changed on the roads he used to frequent time and time again. There are some signs for new restaurants, new exits, intersections, and bridges, but he can still recognize where he is and knows he could still go from state to state on his own without issue.

He's not sure why it takes him so long to notice the carseat in the back.

"That's little Miss Lila's," Missouri answers fondly, without him saying a word, "She's three now."

John nods, "She a family member or somethin'?"

Missouri smiles a little, "Or somethin'. She's Denise's granddaughter."

"Who's Denise?" John asks, staring out the window once more.

"My wife."

John does a double take at that, staring at Missouri in bafflement and confusion.

"It's a different time, John," Missouri says softly, "It's allowed now. We met six years ago, it became legal a few years later and I thought, 'Why the hell not?' We gained custody of Lila two years ago. Sort of difficult, considering both Denise and I are psychics and the judge was a skeptic. But his tune changed once I read his thoughts. Her momma died from an overdose. Drug problem in this country's real bad now. It's a damn shame."

John shakes himself out of his stupor, "I didn't...I didn't know you were…you know."

"What? A lesbian? Me either. I don't think I'm one completely," Missouri laughs, "I have to say, I did admire your cute behind as you walked to the car. But Denise? She does something for me. She's sexy-"

"Okay," John interrupts, clearing his throat.

"Am I making John Winchester uncomfortable?" Missouri asks, faking a gasp, "I figured you'd be jaded by the way all you men talk in the Marines."

John rolls his eyes at that and looks back out towards the scenery.

They get to Missouri's house around 9:30, where Missouri is greeted by a toddler running down the steps to greet her with open arms and a big smile.

"Hello, my sweet girl! Your Nana making breakfast?" Missouri asks.

"Yes, Meme. She's making a big bweakfwas," Lila confirms, nodding her head once.

"Good. Your Uncle John ate the worst first meal I've ever seen in my life," Missouri answers, before putting the little girl down, "Go say hi to him."

The little girl skips over to him, before taking his hand.

"Hello, Unca John! It's nice to meet you!" she greets with a jump.

"...Hi," John eventually tells her, patting her head awkwardly.

"Lila will show you inside," Missouri tells him as she makes her way up the steps, "Keep you out of trouble while breakfast cooks and I get ahold of those boys of yours."

"I'll draw for you and make you pretty pictures, come on!" Lila insists, yanking on his hand.

Even without the years he missed out on, it's been a long time since he's been around a young child. He'd have to interview one for a case from time to time, but once Dean got old enough to play partner, they tended to respond better to him rather than John anyway. Dean always had a nurturing and loving spirit that came out when needed, putting everyone around him at ease. Making it easy for him to accept too much responsibility.

He hopes, after all these years, Dean still has that. That he's taken care of Sam and himself. That he hasn't lost it, despite what might have been thrown at him.

Dean would do much better with Lila than he is right now, not that Lila seems to particularly care. With her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth in concentration, she creates some sort of scribble, blue crayon in her left hand as she clumsily moves it across the page.

"There," she declares, holding it out for him to see, "It's great, huh?"

"Sure," John nods, gently taking the drawing from her hands and hesitantly accepting a side hug from the overly affectionate girl, "Thanks."

"It's an angel. A nice one, not a mean one like some. I made it so it will watch you and keep you safe forever," Lila informs him.

John almost asks her to elaborate, not that it matters since there's no such thing, but another voice jumps into the conversation.

"That's not what angels look like."

John jumps up and stands in front of Lila as soon as he sees the boy, Lila cries in fear and holds onto his leg as she lets out a wail.

"Who are you?" John bellows, "Tell me who you are!"

The boy doesn't respond and picks the fallen picture up off the floor. John must be imagining it, but the boy almost looks at Lila with contempt before straightening his posture.

"I can do better," the boy shrugs, before disappearing once more.

"It's all right," John murmurs leaning down to rub the little girl's back, "He's gone now."

"Who the hell's in my house?" Missouri yells, running out with a shotgun, with a woman John can only assume is Denise at her heels, "I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty!"

"It was that kid," John sighs, sitting back down as he watched Lila run into Denise's arms, "Came in, made a comment about Lila's drawing, then left."

"Oh," Missouri sighs, putting down the gun, "I thought you guys were in trouble."

"The boy's obviously quite powerful, Missouri," John snarls, "He needs to go."

"He's a baby," Missouri dismisses, "He can cause harm, but has no desire to. Leave him be. He's not even out of his naked phase yet."

" _What_?"

"Let your boys handle him," Missouri keeps going, "They'll explain it. You won't like the explanation, but know that things aren't as black and white as they used to be."

And John tries to argue with her, he really and truly does. But it's not easy to win an argument with Missouri Moseley and she says something that stops him in his tracks anyway.

"I talked to Sam."

John lets out a breath, blinks, and nods his head.

"He alright?"

Missouri smiles sadly, "As alright as can be expected. Although, he might be panicking now. I accidentally hung up on him when I heard Lila screaming. I'll call him back for you. You can talk to him yourself."

Missouri presses call on Sam's name and hands over the phone. With an unexpected tremble, John takes it and watches Missouri as she ushers Denise and Lila out of the room.

"Hello?" Sam answers on the first ring, "Missouri? What's going on? Did something happen?"

"Hey, son," John chokes out, covering his eyes, "It...It's Dad.

The other end of the line is silent and part of John wonders if the call was dropped. But Sam lets out a shuddering breath and clears his throat.

"Oh. Hey."

And that response? It makes John desperately want to know what his boys have been through since he died.

"'Hey?' That's all you have to say?" John prompts, frowning.

Sam snorts at that, "Winchesters aren't exactly known for their eloquence."

John huffs out a breath at that, "No, I guess they're not."

There's a beat of silence before John tells Sam what's happened so far unprompted.

"And then the kid said he _loves_ you," John continues, disgusted, "I'm worried, Sam. If this kid has some sort of sick obsession-"

"Don't worry about Jack," Sam interrupts, "He's not...He's not obsessed with me, not like that, he's a kid, come on. He...Shit, I don't know, wants me to be his dad or something. It's weird. I'm trying to talk him out of it but he has selective hearing, kind of like you."

"You're really going to start a fight now?" John sighs.

"Nah, I'm just stating facts."

John grunts at that before letting his voice get soft, "Dean around? I'd...I'd like to talk to him too."

It takes a moment for Sam to respond, which makes John more nervous.

"Dean...Dean's not in a good place right now," Sam tells him evasively, "I don't know how he'd respond to a conversation with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" John demands to know, "What's going on with Dean?"

Sam lets out a sigh, "Look, I'm not keeping you from talking to him. He's at home anyway. I'm in the car outside of a Gas n' Sip in town."

"What's. Going. On. With Dean," John enunciates, hoping his younger son will take a hint.

"We had a rough battle a couple months back. Lost a few people. Dean lost someone he was extremely close with and is struggling with that," Sam tells him sadly, "So, when I get you, I'll be coming alone. He won't know until I know you're who you say you are. There's no easy way to break news like this, but I'm not going to put him under even more stress if this is a sham."

"It's not a sham," John breathes out, rubbing a hand over his face, "But okay. Do what you feel is best."

"Alright. I'll see you in a few hours."

Before John can tell him the same, the line beeps, signaling the end of the call.

"I got you this."

John stands to his feet, turns and throws out a punch, only to watch his fist go through a massive painting.

Jack looks down at the painting sadly, "I thought you might like it. It's a Picasso. _Nude, Green Leaves, and Bust_. It sold for over 106 million dollars in 2010. But I feel that you are a much more worthy owner.

John watches Jack, dumbfounded, as the boy mends the painting with the touch of his hand.

"In case you change your mind," Jack says hopefully, giving him a small smile, before gently pushing the painting towards him.

"I'm sure as hell not going to change my mind on sending you straight back to Hell-" John starts to rant but, once again, Jack is gone.

He's tempted, he truly is tempted, to take the painting, put it out on the curb, and leave it at the mercy of the garbage men or a greedy neighbor. But when he moves the painting, he sees a piece of paper taped to the back, written on with childlike, boxy letters.

 **To: Grandpa**

 **Love,**

 **Jack**


	2. Chapter 2

There's more extensive testing than John remembers there ever being.

As soon as Sam walked through the door, he didn't get emotional, didn't cry or hug him or scream at him for making a deal.

He just manhandled John into a chair and tied him up.

"Is this really necessary?" John asks, spitting holy water out of his mouth.

"I'm not bringing you back home until I'm absolutely positive I know you're you," Sam answers, straight faced and serious.

"You could just ask that kid," John huffs, "Jack. What kind of demon is named Jack?"

And, maybe John is just imagining it, but Sam's expression becomes guarded and defensive, almost indignant, as if John had insulted someone he actually cares about.

"He's not a demon," Sam grunts out, "He's a kid and he brought you back without any nefarious intent. He's made some mistakes but he's still learning."

John sputters at the words, "Do you even hear yourself? The kid's got you wrapped around his finger, Sam! He's tricking you! He's manipulative."

Sam actually has the gall to let out a humorless laugh at that, "Yeah. The boy who popped into the passenger seat of the Impala on the way here just to cry hysterically about how you don't like him or the painting he got you is a real mastermind."

"He stole a painting worth over a hundred million dollars," John objects, pulling at the ropes, "Obviously he is more of a mastermind than he lets on."

Sam purses his lips at that and lets out a breath through his nose, "Yeah. I'll give him a talk. Make him understand that stealing isn't okay. He doesn't have a lot of insight when it comes to decision making as of yet."

"Of course he doesn't," Missouri calls out, bringing a tray of sandwiches out, "He's only a couple months old. Give him time and give him love. His heart is good. Sure his sperm donor isn't too pleased about that."

Sam nods as he takes a plate, before sitting down, "It's just his tantrums that are the main problem. Blew out one of the Impala's headlights when he had his breakdown, so I had to pull over and calm him down before he caused the tires to blow as well."

Missouri puts the tray down and sits next to Sam, covering his hand with her own.

"You're doing great with him, from what I've seen in my visions. You've gone through a lot in the last couple of months. To shoulder your grief as well as your brother's, along with hunting and your research, and on top of all that, being a father figure to Jack? That takes a lot of patience, courage, and responsibility."

"It's not his responsibility!" John rages, trying and failing to get up out of the chair.

"Oh, shut up, John," Missouri tsks, not even giving him a glance, "Eat a sandwich or somethin'."

John scoffs, "Well, Missouri, I'd love to. But I'm a little tied up at the moment."

Missouri smiles a little at that and keeps her eyes on Sam, "Go untie your father. And after you finish up your lunch? Run to Walmart and get him some clothes and boots. I'm a married woman now. Can't let my eyes linger on that cute behind for too long."

Missouri lets a belly laugh out at that, claps Sam on the shoulder, and goes to pour herself another glass of tea.

After Sam comes back from Walmart and John gets dressed, they both say their goodbyes to Missouri, Denise, and Lila then get on the road. John's not comfortable with Sam driving. He knows his boy knows how and that it's his car as much as Dean's, but the last time he was in the car with Sam at the wheel, he and Dean almost died.

Not that it had been Sam's fault. It just doesn't help matters.

"We live in Lebanon," Sam informs him as he gets on the interstate, "It's about three and a half hours away. I'm betting you didn't get much rest. Missouri mentioned you called her a 4 am. You should get some rest, try to take a nap."

"I've been dead for over a decade," John glares, "Like hell I'm sleeping now."

Sam lets out an audible sigh, before glancing over towards him, "Well, what do you want to do? Play 'I Spy' or 'Punch Buggy' or-"

"Cut the shit. I want to know everything I've missed. Everything that's happened."

Sam hesitates, before shaking his head, "I don't think that's a good idea-"

"Sam…" John warns, voice growing in volume.

"I'm serious, Dad," Sam insists, "Look, I know you want to know. Hell, you deserve to know if you've been brought back into our messed up lives. But let me talk to Dean about it first. There's some stuff that's going to be really hard for you to hear. I really don't want you losing your shit while I'm driving."

John seethes in the front seat and clenches his fists.

"What happened that would make me lose my shit? Am I going to get angry?"

Sam swallows and keeps staring at the road, "Probably. And there are other things that will probably make you very sad and upset. Let's...Let's just hold off for a while longer, get to a more secure place."

John thinks about rebutting further, but growls out "Fine."

There's a moment of silence in the car. If Sam's uncomfortable by it, he's not letting on. However, John is. He's been dead for twelve years, god damn it, and he should be finding out everything he can about his kids. The kind of men they've grown into, their home, who they've met, if they've fallen in love. Jack, he said that Sam had loved a woman named Eileen. That she's in Hell, but for no reason. But how does someone end up in Hell for no reason? She had to have done something, maybe had a deeply hidden secret that even a demon like Jack wouldn't know, or made a deal out of desperation like John had.

I like to take my time, Johnny boy. First, I play with the peeled skin, then the muscle, before pulling on the tendons, and finally make my way to the bones. The hellhounds love femurs.

John lets out an involuntary gasp and quickly rubs at his face, before shaking himself out of his thoughts.

"You alright?" Sam asks, reaching over to touch John's shoulder.

"Fine," John answers gruffly, getting control of his breathing.

"You don't look fine," Sam says gently.

"You wouldn't know any different if you kept your eyes on the damn road," John accuses defensively.

Sam shakes his head sadly, but takes the hint, "Can't blame me for being worried."

Eileen. Eileen might not be a safe topic to bring up with Sam, especially so soon and not when he had so much on his plate already. Was there ever a time that kid didn't have too much on his plate? The boy already lost Jessica, and when John had found that out it had hurt something awful. But if he had fallen for someone new, someone special to him, maybe someone who understood the life, only to lose them too...

And Dean. Dean had lost someone and is apparently taking the loss hard enough that Sam refuses to put any extra stress on the boy. Had he lost someone he loved as well?

Fuck.

"Dean…" John starts, trying to aim for subtle, "You said Dean is in a bad place right now."

A sad frown pulls on Sam's mouth as he nods, "Yeah. Yeah, it's been awhile since I've seen him like this. Claire was on a minor ghost hunt a state over and is staying with us for a few days. If there was no one at the bunker, I could honestly say I wouldn't be comfortable leaving him alone to come get you."

"He that bad?" John croaks out, "He...He knows the life. The risks. I know it's hard to lose anyone, but-"

"It's different with Cas," Sam interrupts, "Cas...Dean's relationship with Cas went deep."

Cas. Probably short for Cassandra. Weird, considering the one other girl Dean ever had something promising with was with a girl by the same name. Cassie. They had been good together, short-term. John watched them interact from afar a few days before he told Dean it was time to pack up.

Then she broke his heart. He broke the number one rule, John knows he did, and she called him crazy before throwing him out in a heartbeat.

Dean tried to hide the fact, but didn't hide crying himself to sleep too well. John had been tempted to tear him a new one for getting so attached, but saw Dean's red rimmed eyes and the slouching of his shoulders the next morning and figured he had learned his lesson already.

"It's not Cassie Robinson, is it?" John grumbles, feeling what is probably an unfair amount of disdain for the girl.

Sam pauses in confusion, then shakes his head, "No. No, Cas isn't Cassie. Dean hasn't spoken to Cassie since before you died."

John hums, then clears his throat, "Well, who's Cas then?"

Sam opens his mouth, only to close it, then opens his mouth again.

"Cas...Cas saved Dean. In so many ways. Time and time again. Dean wouldn't be here if it weren't for Cas," Sam finally says, a little choked, "And Dean always did the same. But Cas didn't make it this time."

John feels the grief coming off Sam in waves and he wants to comfort the boy, he does, but all he can ask is,

"Was Dean in love with this Cas?"

Sam swallows, before shrugging his shoulders.

"I don't know. I got vibes from them over the years, sort of brushed them off. But it's starting to look that way. Don't...Don't tell Dean I told you that."

John can't bring himself to answer Sam's response, too lost in his own thoughts to respond.

Dean lost someone, a woman he may have loved deeply. Sam has lost two women in his relatively short life.

It isn't fair. His boys deserve better. What had any of them done to deserve this?

"Who's Claire?" John forces himself to ask, pushing away the painful thoughts.

"Uh...Claire. That's a complicated story," Sam murmurs, "Claire's turning 19 in a couple weeks, lives with Jody, our friend, and hunts on her own. She's...sort of Cas's daughter. Biologically. I guess. Dean cares a lot for her. She's been stopping by more and he goes out of his way to see her. Mainly to research or hunt. I think he sees it as bonding. But he did take Claire, Cas, and Alex, Jody's other foster daughter, to a concert a while back. That was before everything went down."

"Why didn't Cas have Claire-"

Sam's groan cuts him off.

"Dad, I promise that you will get your answers eventually and I do appreciate you sticking with relatively safe topics. But Cas? Not an easy topic, and it's not a safe topic when it comes to Dean's mood. It's up to him when it comes to what he wants to share with you regarding their relationship or Cas's family. I'm not going to make that choice for him. I've said too much already. But I had to tell you a little bit, since Dean's emotional state is fucked right now. The rest can wait until he's ready to talk to you about it."

The rest of the ride is filled with long stretches of road and even longer stretches of unbearable silence, unbearable enough that he has to reach for the tapes in the glove compartment and go through them.

He's surprised some of them are still in tact. A couple of them are from back when Dean was a kid. The labels are worn and yellowed, but most of the cassettes themselves are still in decent shape. It doesn't look like Dean's added any new tapes in the last several years, although that's understandable. Tapes had already been phased out for the most part and replaced with CDs and iPods back in 2006. John could only imagine how things were now.

But he does come across one. Brand new, the label stark white against the dark cassette.

Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx

"Don't play that one," Sam interrupts, surprisingly stern, "He made that for Cas."

John feels a twinge in his chest as he gently puts the cassette back without comment, before finding a mixtape he made Mary years and years ago, tucked in the very back of the box.

It still plays.

"Stay behind me when we go in. Dean's a shoot first, ask questions later kind of guy."

John glares at Sam, "I know my own son, Sam. Who do you think taught him that?"

Sam rolls his eyes at that, before turning the lock on the door.

"You live here?" John asks, a little confused, "Do you wear asbestos masks?"

"It's a lot nicer inside," Sam grumbles defensively, opening the door, "I think you'll be impressed."

"Dean?" Sam calls out, "Claire?"

John and Sam make their way down the stairs and John has to admit Sam was right. The place is impressive.

"How the hell did you find this place?" John asks, looking around.

Sam lets out a breath and looks around the common room, "That's also part of the long story. Have a seat."

"No."

Sam looks at John in pure exasperation, then calls out for Dean and Claire once more.

"I'm making dinner!" a girl's voice yells.

"Come on," Sam motions, grabbing onto his father's wrist.

Sam leads him to the kitchen, a nice, large kitchen at that, where a young, blonde teenager is tossing chicken in a bowl of flour and blasting some emo rock shit on a stereo in the corner. It's a wonder she even heard Sam at all.

"Where have you been?" Claire asks, not even looking up, "You said that you were taking an overnight trip to talk about colleges with Alex, but I know that's a lie because you didn't even come back to pack a bag and I called Jody and she had no idea what I was talking about."

"Yeah," Sam answers, "I lied."

"No shit."

"Dean know?"

Claire scoffs humorlessly, "No. He'd steal my car just to find you. Passed out a couple of hours ago anyway. I figured you had a good reason to fib."

Sam swallows, "I did."

Claire finally looks up at that point, "Then what was it-"

Claire's words come to a halt as she stares at John in curiosity and confusion, before her eyes widen.

"Is that...Is that your Dad?"

Sam lets out a breath, "Yeah. Yeah, it is. Claire, this is my father, John. Jack...Jack brought him back."

John watches her closely, watches as her jaw clenches and tears form in her eyes, before she looks away.

"You Winchesters," she scoffs, throwing the chicken in the bowl, before washing her hands, "You go through Hell but you're special enough to get everyone back."

Claire pushes past Sam and John and goes into the common room without another word.

"God damn it," Sam mutters under his breath, "Claire, wait."

Sam rushes after Claire and John trails behind. He's never enjoyed teenagers. They're emotional and rebellious, don't think before they speak. Even Dean had his issues with suspensions and hooking up with girls and getting money in ways John had always been afraid to find out about. Sam always challenged him head on, bullheaded as his old man, and took off before cutting them off for years.

Not that John helped rectify that.

But Claire? He doesn't know her. Doesn't know how to approach her, can't apologize for being back with his boys because he's not sorry, nor will he pretend to be. He lets Sam handle it and doesn't say a word. But John knows the look in her eyes, the anger and bitterness and sadness and hurt. They're the eyes of a kid who has lost time and time again.

"What, Sam? What do you want me to say? I'm glad you got your Dad back when I never get shit?" Claire yells, throwing her hands out.

"No," Sam tells her placatingly, "I don't want you to say anything you don't mean. Just because he's back, doesn't mean there's anyone out there purposely slighting you, but I know it's still unfair. I know you're going through a lot, I do."

Claire lets out a panicked whine as she puts a hand to her forehead, tears falling down her cheeks as she looks off to the side.

"Why does he get to come back?" she chokes out, gesturing towards John.

Sam sighs, "I don't know. Jack...Jack wanted me to have him, I guess."

Claire snorts, "Yeah, because Jack loves you so much. Everyone knows. He doesn't give two shits about me or Dean. If he did, maybe we'd have Cas back, you know, someone who just died. Or maybe I'd have my parents back. But he can just pick and choose because he has the power to do that. He adores Alex. Maybe his priorities are fucked up enough that he'll want to bring her rapey vampire family back from the dead."

"I would never put Alex in harm's way," a voice booms, as Jack appears in the common room, charging towards Claire, "Alex is light and stars and happiness and hope. I would never bring back the monsters who tried to rip that away from her."

"Alright, alright," Sam interrupts, arms spread out between Jack and Claire, a hand on each of their collarbones, "We're just going to wake Dean up, sit down, and talk. And I expect you two to get along."

Jack nods, before throwing his arms around Sam's torso for a tight hug.

Claire isn't so loving. She screams in pure rage, reaches over to throw a book, then storms off down a hall.

Sam tries to go after her, but it takes him longer than it should since Jack won't let go of him.

"Claire? Hey, hey, what's the matter?! Why are you crying?"

John freezes as he hears the question and his breath hitches because, even though the past twelve years are a blank, he has been waiting to hear that voice since he woke up in the middle of a hospital courtyard.

"Leave me alone, Dean!" Claire demands through heaving sobs, "Pl-Please! Leave me a-alone…"

Claire's wails echo from the hall and John can hear Dean trying to comfort her as both their voices get farther away. Sam lets out a heavy sigh before putting an arm around Jack to lead him towards the couch.

"Dean, Jody, and I...we've been waiting for something like that to happen," Sam tells him, gesturing in Claire's general direction, Jack still firmly squished against his side, "She's been bottling everything up. She was already a pretty angry kid. Cas dying made everything ten times worse."

John clears his throat, "She's lost a lot of people, huh?"

Sam stares at him sadly, "Yeah. No kid deserves the things she's been through."

Sam lets out a breath before turning to look at Jack, "Why don't you go put some clothes on, buddy? There's a whole closet in your room with your name on it."

"It doesn't have my name on it," Jack answers, confused.

"You know what I mean," Sam sighs, "Come on, Jack. You picked them out yourself."

Jack hums, "I did. I did pick them out myself. But I've decided I don't like them."

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose, "But Jack, you picked them out. You must like them a little."

"...No," Jack decides, sitting up straight as folds his hands in his lap, "I've decided I don't like clothes at all. I won't wear them, I just won't."

"Jack, we've talked about this," Sam strains, "People...People wear clothes. That's just what they do. Even though you have a lot of special abilities, it's important that you fit in so that you don't draw too much attention."

Jack stays silent for for a moment, before letting out a soft growl, "I'll think about it. But I probably won't do it."

Sam looks at him for help, as if he wants John to play the stern authoritative figure. Tough shit. He's not touching any issues regarding that evil son of a bitch with a ten foot pole, unless it deals with getting rid of the bastard.

Sam opens his mouth once he takes the hint that John's not getting involved, but before anything can come out, Dean comes into the room.

John finds his eyes locked with Dean's, taking in the sight of his boy. His breath hitches when he sees how dull and lifeless Dean's eyes are, the eyes that Mary boasted about, calling them a brilliant, vibrant, forest green. Only now they seem to look faded, but glossy, as if he'd been drinking or crying, maybe both. He couldn't blame the kid for getting upset over Claire, but this went deeper than that. His boy is well and truly heartbroken and, even though it's been a long time, John can see that plain as day.

"Dean," he rasps out, standing to his feet to take a step towards his son, but Dean automatically takes a step back and looks at him wearily.

"Dean, it's alright," Sam tells him, looking up at his brother from the couch, "I did the tests on him at Missouri's. Jack confirmed he brought him back himself."

Dean stares at him, but John can't decipher his expression. It isn't happy, but John supposes that's understandable. Getting someone back doesn't automatically mean it's going to fix the grief you have over someone else. At least, that's what John can only assume. All of this is completely foreign to him.

"Why don't you sit down?" Sam suggests softly to his brother, patting the spot next to him on the couch, "We'll try to make sense-"

"I'm good."

Dean's expression doesn't change, he's at guard and he's hurting so it makes him even more ready to lash out. John wants to shake him, get him to snap out of it, help in whatever way he can to make him less depressed or anguished.

But, in times where it is the least convenient, Dean could be the most stubborn Winchester of them all.

"I brought John back for Sam," Jack pipes up, rubbing his head on Sam's arm.

"Did you," Dean mutters, not one ounce of feeling in his voice.

"It's because I want Sam to be my dad," Jack insists, gesturing wildly, "And what better gift to get your dad than his dad? I want to be the best son I can be."

Dean turns his head and cocks it, nothing but disdain in his eyes, "Do you? What about your mom, Jack? She's still dead and gone, isn't she? I don't see you granting her with the gift of life out of the goodness of your heart."

Jack's lower lip trembles as he clutches Sam's arm and sinks into his seat.

"And what about Cas? Cas kept you safe, planned to help your mom raise you," Dean continues, voice shaking, "Where's Cas, Jack? He went and bought you a crib, one that you fucking broke after you killed your mom. And what does Cas get in return, other than a blade in his back, nestled in there by your real dad?"

His?

"Stop, stop it, please," Jack whimpers, clutching onto Sam for dear life.

"Dean, stop it right now," Sam warns, glaring at his older brother, "I know you're hurting, that you're angry, but you're drunk and you're being awful."

"And then there's our mom," Dean continues, ignoring Sam's warning, "Our mom, who we just got back not even a year ago. And she's gone, and that's because of you too. Don't see you trying too hard to get her back either."

"I DID TRY!" Jack roars, standing to his feet with tears streaming down his face, "I DID I DID I DID DID!"

Sam stands up and holds onto Jack, "Jack, deep breaths now, come on."

But Jack ignores him, "I tried to bring Cas back but I don't know how and I tried to bring Mommy back but I can't! She wouldn't come and I don't know why! And I've opened portal after portal but I can't find the right one! I'm sorry! I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!"

A light blows overhead and Jack collapses in a heap, sobbing his heart out.

"Damn it, Dean," Sam seethes as he bends down to rub Jack's back, "Why? Why did you have to say that stuff to him?"

Dean stays silent and John can see the guilt in his eyes, the regret over what came out of his mouth.

But he can't focus on it. Not one bit. Not when he feels as if there's a fist clutching his heart, threatening to squeeze it until it stops beating altogether.

He looks for something to ground him, something to keep him calm, until his eyes land on a framed picture of his wife, standing next to his two adult sons and a man in a trench coat.

Mary.

 _Mary._


End file.
